


what's your quietest feeling?

by niffin



Series: foolish devouring things [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Eye Horror, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misuse of Beholding Powers, Oral Sex, Trans Character, Trans Jonathan Sims, Under-negotiated Kink, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffin/pseuds/niffin
Summary: Martin knows there's something else going on, there has to be, God knows he's obsessed about every interaction he's ever had with Jon and concluded every time that his feelings were as far from requited as possible. And it seemed pretty apparent from casual conversation that he had just never been interested in anyone. At all. Ever. (That actually almost made his hopeless crush easier to bear, knowing that it probably wasn't entirely personal.) And the timing, and the state Jon was in when Martin came in - this entire thing makes no sense. But. Martin really wants to. Maybe, this actually marks the point where Jon will let Martin help him, since he's reaching out for… Martin can't really see how sex would help anything. But he's just a little too selfish to ruin this opportunity.-in which martin tries to heal a hurt, though he does not know he's doing so.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: foolish devouring things [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600744
Comments: 14
Kudos: 109





	what's your quietest feeling?

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags. Tagged dubcon because of misuse of Beholding powers, because Jon has been having some issues (as detailed in the previous two fics in this series), and because if he knew the context, Martin would not have consented.
> 
> edit 28.3.2020 - added to the ending.
> 
> [tumblr link](https://niffin.tumblr.com/post/190883370253/whats-your-quietest-feeling-fandom-the-magnus)

Martin opens the door to Jon's office, armed with a duster. He's procrastinating recording the statement Elias assigned him, some dusty old letter from well over a century ago - it's waited this long, it can wait some hours more. Jon hasn't spent more than fifteen minutes at a time in the Archives since he'd been cleared of murder charges, and Martin doesn't think he even notices the state of his office when he pops in there, but God knows Martin isn't doing this out of any real hope for recognition and it's basically a matter of personal pride to -

He stops halfway to Jon's desk because… Jon's in the hollow under his desk, his favorite knit blanket (Martin's thrown it over him countless times) wrapped tight around his thin shoulders, and he's just. Staring. 

"Jon?" No answer. Martin hurriedly sets the duster down, then pulls the desk chair out of the way so he can kneel next to Jon without trapping him under there.

"Jon, what's wrong?" Martin can't keep a note of shrill worry from his voice. He looks Jon up and down; no visible injuries, though that hardly means anything nowadays. He checks his watch - how long has Jon been like this? This is the first time Martin's seen him in over a week, but if he's been hiding in here? He could have just returned, or been back for hours. Days. A sneak attack on the Archives? Did someone, something get to him - 

Then Jon laughs hollowly, says, "I'm fine," with that old acerbic tone that used to intimidate Martin. But Martin's not scared of him anymore -

"You're not **scared at all?** " Jon shifts his eyes to look at Martin without moving his head. Has he slept in the past week? 

"Sometimes I'm scared of you, but mostly just for you." Then Martin frowns at him, anxiety spiking when he realizes Jon's voice had filled with static. "How did you know to ask - like. Like how Elias does -" Jon grits his teeth, and Martin promptly moves on. (How long has Jon been able to do that? How much has he… heard?) "Okay, Jon, that's weird, and more than a little invasive, but right now it's more important for you to be -"

Jon stares at him with unusual intensity. He looks exhausted, and his eyes look almost black in the shadows under the desk. (Martin briefly thanks the Eye for fixing Jon's vision and rendering his glasses unnecessary. Which is the only good thing the Eye's ever done.) "You know I'm trans, right?"

Martin's train of thought is violently redirected to a new track. He involuntarily inspects Jon from head to foot, then kicks himself. It's surprising, yes, but no reason to suddenly inspect him, and now Martin has taken too long to answer. Jon hasn't blinked, expression unreadable. "Um - no, I didn't?" Come on, he knows that's not nearly enough to say when someone comes out. "Well, uh, thank you for telling me, that's, good to know - I'm cis. I think. Maybe? I chatted with Tim, a bit - sorry, this isn't about me so - um… is that? Relevant? To… whatever… this is?"

Jon's eyes flash in an instant so brief and unsettling Martin thinks it had to have been a strange shadow that made them look like they contained too many irises and pupils. " **Do you still want me?** " 

Static permeates his voice and slips like a heavy caress into Martin's ears, throat, bones; and now Martin is very, very scared. He knows now how there's no denial or deception when Jon compels. He clamps his hands over his mouth, straining to prevent his jaw from opening. "I - I'm -"

Jon's eyes widen and he jerks towards Martin, holds his hands out in apology, caution. "I'm sorry! Don't - you don't have to answer. I didn't mean - I won't do that again."

Martin clutches at his face for another long moment, capturing those muffled half formed words, until he's sure that hungry pressure is gone, that his tongue is his own again. He lets go to suck in a heaving breath as his heart hammers away. "Jon, why -"

"I'm sorry -" 

"I mean, I - actually, what I want is - is for you to be safe -"

"Martin -"

"That's normal, and e-everyone does too - more or less - "

"Listen -"

"That's it! We are all - just, so professional here, in this, workplace setting -"

"Martin, stop." Jon grabs Martin's hands to hold them still.

Martin stops, mouth hanging open, flushed to the tips of his ears. Jon has such a strange look on his face right now as they lock gazes over their joined hands. He has his answer even though he withdrew the compulsion, Jon's not stupid, but why did - 

Martin doesn't get the chance to analyze it because Jon bites his lip (that's just not fair), pulls Martin's wrist towards him and. He kisses it. He brushes his full lips against the thin skin on the inside of Martin's wrist, where his veins show pale green against sandy skin. His fingers are warm and they fold so gently around Martin's, uncurl them to lay Martin's hand on his cheek where his own flush heats his skin. Jon carefully asks, "Do you want to. Have sex with me?" He presses a kiss to the base of his thumb, and his breath ghosts over it as he speaks.

No static except for the buzzing in Martin's head and everywhere Jon is touching him. His fingers move of their own volition to stroke that high cheekbone, the curling gray hair at Jon's temple, before he arrests their movement. Not before Jon notices, of course. "Are you… You’re _not_ Jon. What did you do with the real Jon -"

"What? No! It's me." A mirthless smile passes briefly over his face. (Even in the midst of total incomprehensibility Martin can't help but marvel at the fact that he is touching the rare wonder of Jon's smile.) "Not entirely human anymore, but certainly no Stranger." 

He had tried to compel him, after all. That blows Martin's theory out of the water. Martin leans back, putting more distance between them, though he can't quite make himself. Stop touching Jon. "You're… interested. In me? _You_ , actually _want_ to -"

Jon's face closes off. He looks away, drops Martin's hand and tucks the blanket in tighter around himself. Martin sometimes forgets how forceful his gaze can be until Jon breaks eye contact and Martin doesn't feel pierced through anymore. "Fine - you clearly don't, so just… do me a favor and don't tell -"

Martin _knows_ there's something else going on, there has to be, God knows he's obsessed about every interaction he's ever had with Jon and concluded every time that his feelings were as far from requited as possible. And it seemed pretty apparent from casual conversation that he had just never been interested in anyone. At all. Ever. (That actually almost made his hopeless crush easier to bear, knowing that it probably wasn't entirely personal.) And the timing, and the state Jon was in when Martin came in - this entire thing makes no sense. But. Martin really wants to. Maybe, this actually marks the point where Jon will let Martin help him, since he's reaching out for… Martin can't really see how sex would help anything. But he's just a little too selfish to ruin this opportunity. He seizes his panic, uses it to propel himself past the emotional walls he'd (mostly unsuccessfully) set around Jon, and says, "No, wait! That's not - um, yes. I would like to? Have s… do that. With you." Fear and excitement turn his stomach to ice.

Jon sighs in what sounds like relief, but the tension in his body ratchets tighter. Then he slides out from under the desk without further preamble to wrap his hand confidently around the back of Martin's neck and kiss him hard. 

As soon as those fingers stroke against his neck surprised heat flashes through Martin's body; then their lips meet and Martin's lost. The gentle scrape of teeth along his lower lip reminds him he can reciprocate. Jon had pushed him back with the force of that kiss - Martin grabs at Jon's shirt, shoulders, to give back as hard as he's getting. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and a hint of the black tea he prefers (he never remembers to take the tea bag out when he makes it himself but Martin knows how to steep it perfectly) and it's so warm, soft skin and hard pressure, and his mouth fits just right, and he feels so sharp in his arms and determined in his kiss, and Martin traces his tongue along Jon's lip and presses it into his open mouth -

Jon breaks away, blanket sliding off his shoulders, to push closer and kiss down his jaw. His knees bracket Martin's and suddenly he's practically in his lap, and all the blood in his body drains south. Martin dizzily hauls him in the last few inches to drag his tongue down the cords in that long elegant throat, nip lightly at the curve between his neck and shoulder, breathe shuddering kisses over his scars. God, he's so beautiful, warm solid weight pressed against him, panting and shivering every time Martin touches him like he'd never been touched before. 

Jon makes a soft breathless sound and holds up something in Martin's peripheral vision. He glances at it as he bites Jon's earlobe, and then sits up straight. "W-why do you have a condom - did you mean right now? Right here -"

"Now, and here - has to be - " 

Martin furrows his brow; that's _concerning_ ,isn't it? "Jon, why -"

Jon fumbles the buttons of his shirt open as he demands, "Why do you ask? I can handle this, I _want_ to -" And before Martin manages to say anything, he yanks his shirt off and tossed it across the room. Wonder and hopeless awe shove Martin's concerns firmly to the back of his mind. He wraps an arm around him to keep them close, slides his hand over his chest and the round jagged scars on it (he wonders which ones he yanked writhing worms from, blood staining his hands, the corkscrew, Jon's shirt, Jon's voice). His heart glows hot as he kisses each scar - this one is an apology. This one is a promise. This one is sorrow. This one is faith. God, Martin's head swims with _want_ and he's tried so hard not to think about the want (Jon needs him clear headed, effective, useful; and he absolutely isn't when he's thinking about Jon by candlelight and Jon on Martin’s couch quietly reading and Jon in Martin’s bed moaning his name -). 

Jon pulls hard at his jumper and Martin sways forward into it, slides his hands down for a firm grip on his thighs, and stands up. It hardly takes much effort, Jon’s so skinny. He clutches at his chest as Martin resettles him in his arms for long enough to take the three steps to the cot (with how often Jon just falls asleep at his desk, Martin’s not actually sure he remembers it’s there at all. Every time, he imagines carrying Jon there himself, with varying degrees of exasperation). Suddenly, Jon shoves at his shoulders and nearly pitches them both over. Martin drops him on the cot harder than he intended, catching himself on his elbows over him. 

They freeze, staring at each other. Jon does something Martin can only call shrinking away, flattening himself against the cot as his nails dig into his shoulders. Something is _wrong_. Then Jon turns that convulsive clench of his hands into hauling Martin’s jumper over his head, and it and his glasses get tossed to the side; he thinks, _something_ is _wrong_. Jon arches his back and now they’re skin to skin, heat pulsing through his body. His hands smooth over his soft stomach, then the fingers curl and drag their nails down his ribs; what is he supposed to do? _Something is wrong_ and if Jon would just give him a second to think, to realize that nagging worry has turned into a klaxon in the very back of his mind, maybe he could fix it. All he can manage is a retaliatory bite on Jon’s collarbone, soft open mouth kisses over his stomach as he strokes down the length of his legs to pull off his shoes (battered old dress shoes that he's been alternating with equally battered trainers since Jane Prentiss destroyed any semblance of this being a normal job), back up to hook his fingers into his trousers and peel them off. 

Martin leans back on his heels and drinks him in, sharp features, slender limbs, and bones a little too prominent (his top surgery scars and stretch marks are starkly pale, though the worms seem to have spared him somewhat. Bad luck, to be so easily marked). Jon refuses to tolerate that for more than a few seconds, squirming under Martin’s gaze before he finally lurches up to work on his jeans. His hands brush his erection and it all feels so real that dizziness strikes him dumb, stops his heart. Martin has to pull away from Jon’s insistent hands; instead drops to his knees between his legs. 

Jon follows him with his gaze, wariness furrowing his brow as he asks hoarsely, “What -”

Martin kisses his hip bone, licks the elongated line of it and earns himself a yelp. So he hitches Jon's leg over his shoulder and mouths at the soft skin on the inside of his thigh, sucks on it lightly and presses his tongue into it hard. Jon jolts and whines, leg squeezing around his shoulder, and Martin agreeably licks his cunt, a broad stripe from bottom to top.

“ _Martin_ -” He does it again. Jon’s hands find their way into his hair to tug hard. “Wh - oh, _fuck_ -” He slides his tongue between Jon’s folds, tastes him soft and delicate, satisfaction shuddering up his spine as Jon convulses, bends near in half over him. “ _Christ_ -” He flicks his tongue over Jon’s cock -

He’s violently pulled away. Jon’s still breathing hard but it almost has the timbre of panic, and his hands quiver where they’re buried in Martin’s hair. Alarm clears some of the fog from his mind. “Oh no -”

“I don’t _like_ that. That feeling, it doesn’t -” His eyes widen further, the whites showing all around. “I don’t need it, alright? It’s fine.”

Guilt joins the alarm. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if -”

“Just - don’t worry about me, about making me -” Jon swallows hard. “The rest of it is - I want that.”

That reminds Martin, now that he can hear his thoughts. “Jon, _please_ tell me if you don’t, if there’s _anything_ -”

Jon’s mouth works and he leans down, enunciates every word. “I want you to fuck me.” Kisses him, sinks his teeth into Martin’s lip.

And just like that, he plunges back into single minded need. Maybe if Martin had been a better person, he could still have stopped. But the only thought that surfaces with any clarity says there aren’t nearly enough red flags to override all of Jon’s yeses, to override _that_. 

He devours Jon’s mouth, barely gets his jeans off his hips before Jon rips open the condom packet. Their hands collide putting it on, and it strikes Martin that he would really like to hold that hand. Right after he spreads Jon’s legs open over his thighs and thrusts into his cunt. It feels… it all feels jumbled together into one utterly overwhelming whole, and his mind can’t sift out individual sensations to hold onto, though he tries. He wants to imprint everything in his memory so deep it’ll never fade. And when it comes down to it, what he’s experiencing is almost incidental to… Jon himself; how he looks (greying curls falling in his face, delicate neck arched, bottom lip caught in his teeth) and sounds (subdued moans and gasps - he had imagined Jon being a little more… voluble) and moves (tiny kisses peppered over every inch of skin he can reach, hips canted to meet Martin’s).

Martin takes Jon’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and pushes it into the cot next to his face with his next thrust. Jon makes a choked sound low in his throat and bucks his hips, his eyes closing. Then, without opening them, he unerringly grabs Martin’s other wrist. “ _Yes_. Like that -” Pulls those hands above his head too. Martin swallows hard - holding someone down had been a tame, guiltless fantasy until it was about Jon. So it’s not a hard decision to capture both thin wrists and pin them. 

Jon goes slack, face softening; then he arches violently, fighting against his grip and weight. Martin lets go - or he’s about to, when Jon says sharply, “No!” He hooks his legs around his thighs. “Don’t let me go.”

Jon matches Martin’s confused expression as they lock eyes, but it turns into a very familiar stubborn jut of his jaw. Something inexpressible wells in Martin’s chest. A not insignificant part is the conviction that this is a bad idea. Another part says that worry and stress had fallen away from Jon for that split second, and he can’t remember the last time Jon _relaxed_. (A third part tries to convince his heart not to read anything into it.) “I… won’t. Until you tell me to.” He tightens his grip to prove it.

Jon growls and fiercely struggles, trying to work his wrists free and nearly succeeding, heels digging and sliding on the cheap canvas. He clenches down so hard on Martin’s cock that he thinks he might come then and there. Then he visibly calms. Martin drives his hips forward hard, eliciting an unrestrained moan for the first time. That, at least, matches his fantasies perfectly. He runs his thumb over Jon’s cheek, kisses him tenderly in time with forceful thrusts (Jon had pulled away last time so he doesn’t try to slide his tongue into his mouth; that does make it easier to fill the space between them with quiet praise, gratitude, appreciation). Jon reacts beautifully. So beautifully.

It feels like an embarrassingly short time before Martin feels he’s about to come. He pauses deep inside him, panting, fingers trembling when he pushes Jon’s sweat-dampened hair off his forehead. He’d said not to worry about him, but Martin can’t help an anxious, “Jon - I’m -”

His eyes open (there’s definitely too many irises, oh God, _how are there so many_ -) and abruptly an omnipresent scrutiny flays him down to his bones. “ **Look at me.** ”

Martin wouldn’t disobey even if he could. His voice breaks on Jon’s name and those _eyes_ dissect him and he shatters, and he does not look away.

Next thing he realizes is that he’s crushing Jon. His angular frame pokes him, stopping just short of discomfort, but he figures he's got enough padding to make up for it. He rests his face in Jon's hair and lightly touches his lips to where his pulse races. He likes how his breath feels where it warms his sweat-dampened skin. He’s thoroughly, unreasonably drained. It’s nearly too much simply to force his hand to release Jon - then terror shocks his heart. His fingers clamp back down as he pushes himself up to stare into Jon’s -

Puzzled, perfectly normal eyes, wincing as he swivels his wrists and silently requests to be freed. Martin, baffled but unspeakably relieved (there’s no way he imagined it. Does Jon know that they… do that?), lets go. He mumbles an apology that trails off as Jon sighs. He massages his wrists and seemingly unconsciously rubs his heel up and down the back of Martin’s thigh. The moments inexorably slip away and fill him with a luminous heartache. He opens his mouth - is stopped with a hand on his shoulder. “Was it really so inconceivable that I was interested?”

Martin sucks in a breath, struggles to find his bearings. That’d been the gist of his unasked question too. “I mean - yes? Certainly not in… in me. And I just, had the impression you weren’t into… anybody, that way.”

Jon’s face twists in a way he can’t interpret. “Well, there’s - there’s nothing wrong. With that. I really - and you seemed… okay, with how things were? And I never wanted to push - to push that boundary. I didn’t - I was okay. With how, with how things were.” 

The question looms over them. Things are not the same. They are not the same. _Is he okay with that?_

Jon pushes Martin off - gently enough, but something brittle snaps in his chest. He slowly sits up, tries to control his emotions while Jon hastily gathers his clothes. He shouldn’t have expected the physical act - already more than he could have foreseen - to indicate anything… more. Martin should know better. Confusing expectations with hopes rarely did anything but hurt.

“Thank you.” Martin’s just put his glasses on and looks up to see Jon paused in the middle of yanking his shoes on, shirt buttoned wrong, looking wholly disheveled. “You didn’t have to. With me. I’m… grateful.” 

The hopes choke him before Jon finishes, “I’m sorry.”

He nearly runs out the door, and Martin’s alone. Again. He thinks it might be the most alone he’s ever felt. 

**Author's Note:**

> i have specific headcanons about ace jon. by the way, martin doesn't see jon again for oh, id say a month? until ep 101 or thereabouts? just thought id mention that :) 
> 
> [RAINN for 24/7 sexual assault hotline/live chat](https://www.rainn.org/)
> 
> [Trans Lifeline](https://www.translifeline.org/)
> 
> [Trevor Project 24/7 hotline/live chat for LGBTQ individuals](https://www.thetrevorproject.org/)


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